Sunday, August 23, 2009

The Lonliness That Owns Me

a lonliness now owns me that I owe you for my dear
you took what I didn't realise given until its disappearing made it clear
you're aware a tear here or there is how I'm not usually disposed
so it bothers me now to wonder why I remember you so close
and though my memory's fading one day I may see as blessed plague
I wish there was another way we could remain knowing our love less vague

Saturday, August 22, 2009

Stripped By Our Lips

I wish there was another way
I could say all to you I meant
in the second that your lips touched mine
before you tasted so much regret

the moment now never to be
claimed can't play as I'd dreamed
actions whilst spawn of true intentions
now will never be what we deemed

Lately Lacks Any Satiate

where are you I wondered
as the train's thunder
drummed out the Bob Dylan in my ear
and further as I neared
the station of my destination
I became perplexed by a strange fear

that so cried inside me
softly and long unfamiliar
that where to place it I lacked idea
I spoke your name under
the whisper of my breath
and through my atmosphere it seared

so hot are you still
at the edge of my mind's
tongue that I'm parched for you
there's no satiate left
and my desire won't quell
I'm so spent with this want what to do

my heart a hail storm
impales my day with stones
of thought that collects and won't melt
it's a Winter inside me
despite the heat outside
my blanket of knowing what I felt


your voice in needles
creeps through my ear
and I find them in my spine
they sit there wedged
and I can't remove them
but they'll never be mine

it seems we've come
in return full circle
though I do not face you
I can place you exactly
but it's like our hands
are made entirely of glue

we've correspondence
guidlines established
as platonic hope's request
but with your every word
I sigh in solomn breath
into friendship's breast

a requite I was once
told if in absence of love
renders the gesture in vain
but as I spoke to you
it might be missing the love
that ends the greatest pain

Monday, August 17, 2009

She Was A Dreamer

I once fell in love with a girl. She was a dreamer and she made me feel like I was her dream. I couldn't dream. I'd spent my life trying to dream but was only able to live in that place of a dream through a pen and a piece of paper. So I gave her the only dream I knew how to give. I gave her words. I didn't imagine that words would ever be requite enough for a dream but she took them from me with patient, gentle and receiving hands and she made them her own. She held them and looked at them adoringly, like the dream that you have, which you share with no one, but long to tell every one. We were that dream. Our words were secrets, each one a new weave in the beautiful pattern. Every action another colour that shone different to the other. Every look stretched beyond the horizon to that place we know exists but cannot see and do not know where it is or how to get there. And just like those lovers who sit at a beach and watch the sun rise from the sandy, damp dunes and wonder what lies beyond and if they can make it, we did. But there is a small fissure, a hair's width or less that sits between a dream and reality, much the same as the one between the sky's end and the horizon. We didn't make it. When our time came to end I wondered what to say, what to give, what to want. Words are something that you can't take back and you cannot take back a dream either. I tried to think of some last words to give as my final dream for her but I could only reaccount ones already fallen off the edge of the world. Goodbye said too little. I thought to tell her that I still loved her but still loved is not a dream. It's only the echo of the tiny speck disappearing into the dissolving horizon that no one can hear. So I said nothing and walked away from her wondering if you can live in a dream forever, believing that the sun is always rising. A few steps from her I turned over my shoulder and looking at her in her mellowing, sleepy, crazy, beautiful eyes I whispered, 'keep dreaming' and then kept walking. I'm not sure if she heard me.

Thursday, August 6, 2009

The Clock Knows Only To Take

he ran fast, with a guitar he couldn't play and a heart hard to contain
panting, arriving at the station, the timetable berating him too late
he galanted down to the platform and it turned out the train never came
then in eager chase a calming wind caught up to him as he sat to wait
and on it's fresh breath the just left scent of her final hug remained
and it played clearly in his memory the extent their hold had to say
standing there in dim lit night a length of time stretched so straight
the only words between them spoken; note of the longest ever embrace
wistfully, he wondered if there'd ever be a way to lock away such place
eventually upon the train, at his seat, the window reflected his face
and the tinted evidence returned to say that the clock knows only to take

other people waiting

we're not strangers anymore